


Such Is the Sickness of Many a Good Thing

by SinOfPride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinOfPride/pseuds/SinOfPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was riding high on the thrill of having <i>made it</i>, of having redeemed his failure by bringing his brother back- not just from the dead- but from hell itself. (AU set post the S3 finale 'No Rest for the Wicked').</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Is the Sickness of Many a Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> _Was he then Adam of the Burning Way?  
>  hid away in the heat like wrath  
> conceald in Love’s face,  
> or the seed, Eris in Eros,  
> key and lock of what I was?  
> I could not speak the releasing word.  
> For into a dark matter he came  
> and askt me to say what I could not say.  
> _  
> \- Such is the Sickness of Many a Good Thing by Robert Duncan.

It took almost five months, before Sam saw it. When he did, it was an accident. 

_What is it? Dean asked, smiling at him gently from the mirror._

For a long time after it was done, Sam rode high on the thrill of what he’d accomplished after months of hardship and sorrow. The pain of those days seemed miles away, half-forgotten under what it felt like to redeem his prior failings and have his brother back where he belonged. Sam had done it. He’d saved Dean and gotten him back, not just from the dead, but from hell itself. 

Sam could see it every time he closed his eyes; gates of fire opening up at his command while demons disintegrated into nothing, a brilliant white light heralding the rebirth of his Dean, battered and bloodied but blessedly whole and _alive_ , breathing soft and slow against Sam's chest as he was carried back to safety. 

The remains of Ruby, Lilith and the convent had laid bleeding and smoldering at Sam's back, but they held no more importance than the purpose they'd served. The blood on Sam’s hands had still been warm, but Sam had felt no shame placing those hands on his brother’s skin.

It'd all been for Dean.

_The toilet was cool against his cheek, the moisture from the shower Dean had taken seeping into Sam’s clothes as he lay against it. It felt like Sam's guts were trying to climb out of his body, as if his body was boiling alive from the inside._

_He felt Dean's callused hand on his back, felt a soft kiss being pressed to his hair._

_“It's all right Sammy,” Dean said. “Everything is all right.”_

The best of it was, Dean _was_ back; all the smiling, teasing, gruff ways of his, his no chick-flick moments rule and his disgust at Sam's IPod-Jack on the Impala. He still fit perfectly in Sam’s arms and called him Samantha every time they cuddled. 

Yeah, maybe Dean was a little more distant, colder to others than he'd been before and less prone to selfless, impulsive acts. Maybe he was more ruthless in a hunt and a sight to behold with a blade, but Sam would let him gut as many ghouls as he wanted and relish every werewolf’s death as long as it was proof that he’d survived. 

Sam was so proud of him, so fucking proud of how Dean had kept himself whole and sane through the thirteen fucking months he'd been in hell before Sam had finally been ready to come for him. Sam could overlook so much just to have Dean there, breathing, warm and beautiful, right beside Sam. Neither of them were the same people but they still fit together seamlessly, maybe more in synch than ever before. 

_Sam turned slowly, mechanically to face those green eyes he loved._

_Dean was naked and unconcerned by it as he knelt next to Sam, still petting him like he'd done when Sam was smaller than him and his to take care of._

_Sam could see the trail of marks he'd left on Dean's neck the night before, the bruises from his hands on Dean's hips and thighs._

_Sam stared harder, trying to see it in him, as if he could dissect him with a look half blinded by tears. Dean met his scrutiny calmly, just waiting for it to happen. It seemed like he'd been waiting for this for a while._

Dean never asked how Sam had saved him. Sam didn't say. 

Sam told himself it didn't matter, because this time Sam was not letting go, not ever. They slept on the same bed, Sam curled around Dean's smaller frame and attuned to any signs of distress, any nightmares from the hell Dean said he couldn't quite remember.

There were none.

_”Sammy,” Dean said softly, a whispered admonition loaded with meaning and love and patience. His Dean. Sam reached out to touch that soft skin, to try and feel what he couldn't see, dug his fingers in, feeling the flesh, warm and whole beneath his touch. Flawless._

The apocalypse was looming on the horizon, Bobby had told them when they’d visited. It was undoubtedly because of whatever Sam had done, he’d been dead certain; the timing was undeniable. 

They'd left the place quickly at Dean’s insistence, though Sam was certain Bobby wouldn't harm them despite his misgivings over Sam's methods and their consequences. He’d been none too pleased with Sam’s silence on the how, but it’d been plain that Bobby had been thrilled to be seeing both of them, Dean in particular, regardless of his dire warnings. 

He'd been disappointed in Sam though and hadn’t quite been able to stop pushing the issue. Sam could understand, he’d cut off contact with Bobby for a long time, but Dean took the whole encounter badly. It’d been sad to see Bobby react to Dean’s open wariness and distrust, so Sam agreed to leave the man behind. 

About the apocalypse, neither Sam or Dean said much. They were meant to what, stop it? Brace themselves? Either way for Sam it’d been worth everything, the powers, the kills, the blood and the suffering, and he was willing to fight to defend it all if Dean wanted to challenge it. 

Dean didn’t call him on it, only saying they obviously had work to do. Sam smiled at him and nodded. 

_”Sammy, you did the right thing.” Dean told him softly, voice reassuring._

_It was something he'd been saying for a while, though he'd never asked what exactly that ‘thing’ Sam had done must have been. Dean had no way of knowing how he'd been brought back._

_Sam was perpetually terrified that Dean would start digging, start questioning what had been necessary to perform that final ritual and find something (every part of it) impossible to live with._

_The restoring of Dean’s decayed flesh and the call to his soul’s return had come at a steep price. The way to build up Sam's powers had been too dark a road. Dean knew about those since shortly after his return- they’d used them on hunts constantly like any other weapon- but they had discussed neither their origin nor their scope._

_Dean took them in stride. Dean never questioned what had happened at all._

They hunted like never before. 

Hunts were a dime-a-dozen everywhere they went; all the hordes of hell seemed to trail them, demons and creatures straight from Revelations popping up all over the map. 

Sam had worried, at first, what it'd be for Dean to have to face demons and hellhounds and all sorts of monsters attuned to his stint in the Pit that Dean wouldn't talk about. But Dean was beautiful to watch on the field, honed to a fine edge by experiences Sam couldn’t even imagine, hell’s sole survivor. 

Most of the time, Sam felt like he was once again seeing the world from under Dean's shadow, as if Dean had turned back into the superhero Sam had seen him as when they were kids. 

Dean tore through the hunts like they were training exercises, a sight to behold with a weapon and a smile as he dispatched anything to cross their paths. His newest blade dispatched fallen angels as easily as Ruby's knife killed the lesser demons, leaving impressive winged scorch marks that Dean would raise his eyebrow at. Sam took to watching him in motion with pride, watching demons barely managing to fight back, petrified of his brother like Dean should have been of them. 

They even looked at Dean with awe, sometimes, right before they were annihilated and Sam had to laugh at them, grinning at his brother. Dean's bloodied features didn't mar the wide, bright way he smiled back. 

_”She dies,” Ruby had said and she'd looked so excited once she knew he was ready, once he'd done enough. “Lilith dies and the gates of hell will open. Then you need to call him. Call your brother, reach for him and he will come to you. He will come, Sam.”_

Sam had been the first to reach out for Dean's body again, after hell. They’d never really acknowledged it aloud, what they’d always been to each other before, so he didn’t ask in words; Sam had come to him with a kiss and Dean hadn't pushed him away.

Sometimes, Sam felt like Dean was indulging him. But it was such a relief to touch that skin again, to be allowed to learn the new smooth paths of muscle, that it was easier not to push. 

It was enough that Dean yielded to him and that he didn't spare Sam a single word or look of resentment over the months before Dean’s death, when the wedge Ruby had thrown between them had made this closeness unreachable. 

Now, Dean let him do anything he wanted. When Sam kissed him, Dean kissed back with relish, like he tasted the inside of Sam, like he was trying to lodge himself within him. 

_”You both did so well,” Dean said and he sounded fond and proud, looking down at himself for a moment before meeting Sam’s gaze again._

_One of Dean's hands was stroking down his own arm in a hypnotizing, soothing motion. Sam stared at him, stricken, and Dean leaned in to kiss Sam's forehead when Sam couldn’t answer him with words. His throat felt hollow, like a thousand blades were taking their sweet time in cutting off his vocals chords one by one._

_“You would have been proud of Dean down there. He held on for thirty whole years, you know? He was Alistair's favorite pet. Then he lived up to his potential, set the wheels in motion, and tore hell to shreds for another decade. He made himself seen. He made himself mine.”_

Five months after Dean had been back, Sam walked into the bathroom and found Dean admiring his naked reflection in the mirror. 

It had made him laugh. He'd been about to say something about Narcissus when he saw the open wound on Dean's side that Dean was smoothing over with a hand, the wound that Sam saw with his own eyes knit itself back together like Dean was- like Dean was smoothing down a crease in a _suit_. 

Like Dean wasn’t-

_”It was meant to be you. Your destiny.” Dean said. Dean's body was graceful as he pulled himself back to his feet and left Sam kneeling by the toilet._

_Sam stared at him, at the body, at the face. Lucifer looked into that mirror and smiled at Dean's reflection._

_“You should have seen it, Sam. When he opened the first seal, Dean was the most beautiful broken thing I’d ever seen.” Dean said, five months after he came back. “He felt so betrayed, desperate enough to curse your name even as he cried for you to come save him. I sympathized.”_

_It wasn’t Dean._

_“I called him to me, held him close. Dean is such a grateful little thing, Sammy, I understand why you love him so much. Then we waited for you to set us free.” Said Lucifer. The gentleness in that well-loved voice was shattering Sam's heart into shreds._

_“Dean said yes for you and me both, Sam. He loves us both. So now we all have each other, back together, and Michael can rot in sinful envy. He took too long to come for what was his.”_

"No," Sam was saying, repeating it, but Lucifer didn't listen. "No, no, no, please, Dean. You were only there a year, please-" 

"It was a hundred and thirty years, since he came down." Lucifer informed him with a wistful sigh. Sam retched, bringing up bile and almost didn't hear him go on. 

"It took him thirty to break. Ten to shine. Ninety years since he’s been mine. You learn a lot about someone in that amount of time, Sammy, don't blame yourself for not noticing."

Five months, Sam thought numbly, staring down at the bowl. It took him five months to see it.

"You beat the angels for us." Lucifer was saying. Dean's voice and Dean's face made it sound bright and good and not like the words that were tearing Sam's heart and mind to pieces, tearing the world around them down. 

"You beat heaven itself for us, Sam. Now we're going to thank you for it."


End file.
